The Enterprise
by brttny98
Summary: AU: Spock and Jim are two strangers who meet in the largest library in the galaxy, the Enterprise. They are drawn to each other, and neither one can explain what it is.


Enterprise – largest library in America

Spock and Kirk

Perhaps it had all been predestined. The intricate twisting fabric of destiny, after all, is too complex to understand. Maybe the terrible things that have become so much a daily part of his life, so much a natural occurrence he barely even flinched anymore – maybe the terrible things were all for some greater, more profound moment. A moment that will all have been worth the pain.

Of course, if anything, James Tiberius Kirk was anything but an optimist. He was a survivor, first and foremost. He was a rebel, a trouble-maker, a lover. He was many things. But Jim Kirk was not an optimist. He was not deluded into believing that happy and wonderful events would surround his short and altogether miserable life. He knew that life was dreadful, straight through to the end, with only slightly happy moments thrown in between.

It was most likely why he sought out pleasure. Pleasure not only through sex, but through dangerous schemes, and excitement and crazy adventures, and so many illegal and chaotic feats, it's surprising he's still alive. Jim Kirk wanted something to make the pain of his life worthwhile. And so far, he was having a difficult time finding a suitable method of filling the void.

Not only was Jim a delinquent, he was also a genius. He was a very intelligent young man, and had always been above a normal level of intelligence. In retrospect, that's probably why his schemes worked out so well. It was difficult for him not to attempt a diversion, because of the constant chatter inside his head, a roaring of his own voice telling him to do something, _anything, _to make his boring life _worth _something. A chorus of every voice in the world telling him to be better, to do better, to _be like your father, _to stop living in a shadow. To stop sullying the name of the martyr, the man who saved lives. A hero.

Jim was many things. But he was not an optimist. And he was certainly not a hero.

/

Emotions are and forever will be illogical to most Vulcans. They had no purpose, and would only inhibit decision making; intelligence and careers did not have the need for emotions, therefore emotions were to be purged from the body to avoid any complications.

Spock was no different. As a Vulcan – or as a half-Vulcan, as Spock's mother was a human, however illogical that may be – he abided by the Vulcan ways completely (though, as a child, Spock was prone to bursts of emotion that were out of place amongst the other children). Spock, having a very gifted young Vulcan mind, was determined to live up to the Vulcan ways, in order to distance himself from his very human-like childhood behavior.

As such, the young Vulcan travelled from home in the mindset that he would honor his family. He would make his father proud of him, and unashamed of his heritage. In order to follow these plans through, the Vulcan ended up on Earth. A planet full of the humans he did not want to be reminded of (he would never say they caused him to feel irritation, as that would be illogical).

He ended up in America for the renowned library. A library so large, it held a copy of every novel, every literary publication, all of every printed documentation of every scientific breakthrough within its walls. A destination that every scientist was attracted to, the Enterprise was the largest library in the galaxy. Spock, obviously – and logically – was drawn to its hoard of books, and spent weeks immersed in the splendor of the Enterprise.

Spock was determined to make his race forget that he only shared half the genetics as them. And he thought, with only a small amount of uncertainty, that by becoming a Vulcan scientist, he would complete his – for lack of a better word – _dream. _

/

As the fabric of destiny spun its intricate web, a lone and dejected Kirk ran his life into a dark road. It was the darkest his life had ever been, and he allowed it to swallow him. He gained nothing from his nights with young women and men. He found physical release, but he did not feel relieved when it came. His fighting with other rebellious men, and even Starfleet cadets, took on a whole new level.

Jim's friend, Leonard Mccoy, a medical doctor who served in Starfleet (though not on any ships, as he was terrified of them), began to worry about his sudden – or not so sudden, depending on the perspective – bout of masochism. Leonard was not one to ignore a medical problem, and so confronted his best friend in his usual grumpy bedside manner.

Jim only smiled, though, when 'Bones' asked him _just what the hell do you think yer doin', kid? _The smile was followed by, of course, a flirtatious remark. Jim wasn't one to talk about his feelings, and neither was Leonard. The conversation did not make it further than that.

It was here, in this downward spiral of inner turmoil and despair, that James T. Kirk found the gateway he had been seeking all his life. Bones had finally managed to excite the adventurous man with the prospect of going to a new – and for Jim, it had never been an option – place. A place where Jim – or so Bones hoped – would be able to release his intelligence in a healthy and controlled manner. After all, as Bones saw it, the kid was always trying to find a new book to read, a new scientific study to research, new technologies to tinker with.

The trip was long and tedious, though both Leonard and Jim were excited about the prospect of a new and exciting future. The upcoming events, though only temporary, would at least relieve some of Jim's destructive ways.

Jim was many things. But he was not an optimist. The hope blooming inside his heart was ignored – to an extent that made it appear to the man that it did not exist at all.

/

The research that Spock was required to do was tedious, but he was determined, and used his extensive knowledge and resources to his advantage. The Vulcan enjoyed the intensity of the sciences, of the difficult equations and theories he needed to know – he reveled in it. Nothing could be more satisfying than having completed a scientific journal or article that had been lacking in previous content.

As much as he loved the glorious science, he was – though he'd not admit it to anyone – at a serious lacking of appreciation toward the countless humans that passed by him in the Enterprise. Of course, they were attracted to his alien traits, to his ears, specifically. They all desired to be appreciated by the Vulcan and would attempt to impress him with their intelligence.

Of course, because Spock was indeed a Vulcan, their intelligence had not impressed him once. He was, instead, surrounded by intelligent people that could not light a candle to his own intelligence.

Spock was a Vulcan. And because Vulcans do not associate with being illogical, Spock did not acknowledge his loneliness inside the fully populated library. Instead, he kept with his research. He kept with the disdainful manner he treated everyone with, he continued in the prospect of accomplishment.

Spock was logical, and would do what was logical.

/

Leonard was not one to admit to having affections toward this young man, but he would at least admit it to himself. And watching the blonde kid, blue eyes glistening, a child-like grin spread across his face as he took in the wonders of the largest library he had and ever will see – the doctor couldn't help but feel a swell in his chest. Jim had been through so much, and to see the kid smile was all Bones wanted.

The wonder of the Enterprise was not quick to wear off. On the contrary, Bones and Jim decided an extended vacation was to be necessary, as there were too many books to be read, too many discoveries to be made. They spent hours submerged in the world of these novels, of the medical journals and the scientific discoveries. Bones even had to pry Jim away when it became too late at night, and they needed to sleep.

On his tenth day in the library, Jim came across a small corner full of books, a desk, a computer, and several communicator PADs. Of course, Jim's curiosity was aroused, and he decided to investigate the interesting nook inside of the library. The com PADs were full of intellectual and eloquent essays, of various experiments and mathematical equations. Jim was intrigued, wholeheartedly, and set about reading these discoveries. He even scribbled his terrible writing for some notes on a spare sheet of paper, fixing and addressing some of the fallacies he came across.

It was perhaps an hour and thirty minutes into his treasure, sprawled across the spinning roll-ey chair and desk, when Jim realized he was being stared at. Not even just staring, either, but intense glaring. Jim looked up, and met the piercing gaze of a young man. A young man with pointy ears and a straight, perfectly symmetrical haircut.

Jim smiled politely at the man, though a lascivious smirk managed to break through at the end. He took in the image of the beautiful Vulcan – obviously he was a Vulcan; his stance, eyebrows, and ears screamed it – and appreciated what he saw. Dark hair, dark eyes. He was tall, and had broad shoulders. He was a perfect specimen of male, and Jim rather liked what he saw. That is, until the dark eyed Vulcan opened his (wonderfully soft, moist, and full) lips.

"You are not permitted in this location of the Enterprise. You have trespassed amongst my personal belongings, and I would ask you to remove yourself immediately." His voice was velvet and smooth. He, though his voice was pleasurable, made Jim wary of a fight.

Or, perhaps not a fight, as Vulcans would find that illogical. No, Jim was right to have his hackles raised – Spock was in (of course, he would nerve pinch the fellow who accused him) a very foul mood. As he had been researching in a spot further away from his workplace, a pack of human females approached him, with the sole purpose of illogically trying to emotionally attach themselves to the man.

It was obvious – perhaps only to Spock – that he would not find any interest in those girls. However, they prattled on and on about topics they thought they knew, but were only generalized information. It was more tedious than actual research, in Spock's opinion, and he managed to, in not so many words, accuse the women of not knowing anything at all about his career, and sent them off in a dazed stupor. His logical retort about their intelligence was almost too eloquent for their understanding.

When Spock returned to his workplace, scientific files and research in tow, his indifferent demeanor still not obtained – he met the sight of a golden creature that had curled itself around his desk. A man, with honey blonde hair, and crystal eyes – the likes of which are not common amongst Vulcans, making the man cradled at Spock's desk highly exotic and exciting to look at.

He was reading the essays that Spock was writing for his discoveries and publications. Brow furrowed in concentration, he marked off barely legible script on a plain piece of paper, not even looking to double check his work. Indeed, the man was completely confident in the information he read, as well as the words and equations he was writing down. Spock found himself intrigued by this, this seemingly average human, who had the intellectual capacity that was the equivalent of his own.

He was also disturbed by the man's lack of propriety and complete disregard to personal space. After looking upon the man, for a seemingly long amount of time (he was not noting the attractive qualities the man possessed, nor was he cataloguing individual traits on the man, and he was certainly not looking at his mouth), the golden man finally realized he was being studied, and met Spock's gaze. A bright curve of his lips, white teeth gleaming, the man smiled at the Vulcan. The smile disarmed Spock, though, as it seemed as if the man were studying _him _in a turn of events. It caused (did not) anger to stir in the Vulcan's blood, and he managed, through a clench of his jaw, to warn off the man from his workplace.

"You are not permitted in this location of the Enterprise. You have trespassed amongst my personal belongings, and I would ask you to remove yourself immediately." Spock's voice was strong, and did not emit any emotions. Of course, being a Vulcan, he would not show his emotions at all costs – it was the way of Surak, therefore, the way of Spock.

However, this particular human was intelligent – more so than Spock gave him credit for. He could read the face of this Vulcan, and he saw irritation – only a slight incline to his slanted eyebrow gave him away, and Jim saw through this that he had angered the alien. And though Jim did not understand what it was, exactly, that he had done to this man, he understood that it was not a good idea to anger him any further. After all, biologically, Vulcans were not known for their intelligence alone, but their strength, as well.

"I was wandering through, and I figured that since this is an all access library, I was allowed to sit wherever and read whatever." Jim's answer was not high quality, and as the words left his lips, he almost regret it. But, Jim was certainly not a coward, and accepted that this may in fact end up in a fight.

Uncrossing his legs from on the desk, he placed them down onto the floor. The current essay he was reading was plopped down onto the pile of previously read documents, and with a slight tinge of sadness (as he really was looking forward to completing these works, as they were far above the intelligence level of some other published works in this library) he stood up to leave.

Spock, noticing his hesitation, narrowed his eyes in suspicion. No matter the attractiveness of the male, he felt as if he were being harassed for his research. It must have been an attempt to retrieve the information he was working on – it could have been nothing else. Paranoia setting in, Spock was cold toward the blue eyed stranger in order to regain the control he felt slipping from his grasp.

"I believe I told you to remove yourself from my desk. I did not ask you how you came to be here."

Taken aback, Jim certainly did not expect the dark haired alien to be so blunt in his answer – though, he thought, he was not incorrect in his words, as he stated before he did not ask why he was here, rather, to remove himself from this location of the library.

So, despite his attraction to the hostile Vulcan, and the desire to continue reading the literary masterpieces and profound chemistry and physics equations, he began walking away from this haven of knowledge. Not saying a word (he really had no desire for altercations, the time spent in the Enterprise had grounded him, and he, though still the same Jim, was more interested in reading than furthering the situation), Jim started making his way to Bones, all the while feeling the Vulcan's eyes boring into his retreating form.

/

Spock was left with a mass of unorganized (not really) documents, and (once he got past the intrusion on his personal space) he found that the human's note taking was indeed logical, and highly intelligent. The fact alone, that the human's intellectual capabilities so far surpassed others – and many Vulcans, as well - it intrigued him. Spock wanted to continue reading the notes that the golden stranger had begun taking, but because he made an exit (that is how Spock viewed it, not as a banishment) and left before he completed his musings, Spock was unable to read more into what the human would have continued writing.

As the hours passed by with Spock meticulously completing his work, his thoughts roamed without his warrant, and he found himself contemplating his existence. In a completely non-existential reflection of himself, he admitted to himself how _alone _he felt. Not in just a sense of being alone in this abandoned corner of an incredibly large library. The people, though quiet (it is a library, after all), still emitted enough noise to make them noticeable to the sensitive ears of the Vulcan, and even though he could hear them living their lives, and bustling around – he was alone.

Spock sat in his chair, hands steepled under his chin, contemplating what exactly made him different. Neither human nor Vulcan, Spock was unable to be accepted in either society. And it was moments like this, these devastating moments of clarity that had Spock exhausted – already – of his long life, and the many, many years that would follow.

/

The time passed by, both men dreading the rest of their lives. Both men taking salvation in their books, trying to fill the voids inside their chests that society had left them with. Gaping wounds that, with every turning page, were a little bit smaller. Though only just minutely. Only enough for them to crave completion.

It was nearing three days after their meeting that Spock caught sight of the golden haired and crystalline eyed human. It was an immediate sense of _I need to speak with you, I need to converse with you, I need to – be near you. _Spock had no idea where the urge came from. It was so sudden, and consuming, but he could not admit to it being illogical. After all, his interest in the human rose significantly when he read his notations on the essays. Spock's desire to continue learning and uncovering the truths of science stemmed directly from the information those long pale fingers had scratched into the paper.

Little to the Vulcan's knowledge (he was no mind reader, after all), the Iowa native had a similar experience. He was drawn to the alien – he wanted to uncover more of the knowledge that was hiding in the nook of the library, whatever was hidden behind his pointy ears and slanted eyebrows.

But of course, the statistical likelihood that he would be intentionally sought out by the Vulcan, was highly unlikely. Jim was not one to fight against curiosity, however, so he intended to sneak around and gain as much as he could from that little nook in the library. And if there was anything that Jim did best, it was getting what he wanted.

The two men danced around each other, hoping to be caught, hoping to be discovered by the other. To find each other, to be able to lose themselves in company that would make them feel less like lone wanderers with no home. To be able to revel in the intelligence one brought forth. Jim always had admired the brainy students, though found them rather tame when he pursued them. In this instance, though, the light that shed onto that nook brought with it something into these men, and they were loath to let it slip away.

Bones noticed the behavior Jim was giving off one evening, as they sat in the library café. He knew the kid looked entirely too jittery for a normal day – this was not the typical attitude that Jim had, he was usually moping but intentionally downplaying it with lascivious comments on the older man. This time, though, when Bones said _dammit, Jim, _there was a beatific smile curled around his face. It was as if, just maybe, Jim had finally gotten out of his downward spiral. And even Jim felt that, for all the love in the world, he could have a happy life.

Running around the library was fun. Timing it perfectly so that the Vulcan wouldn't catch him snooping around the nook, nose buried in documents and files, in com PADs and data bases. He had so much fun, mirroring Spock unconsciously, chasing after knowledge with someone he (hoped) knew was doing the same. Spock even had to admit to himself that the human was versatile, as he managed to sneak around all the while researching extensively. It was not a typical thing to do, Spock admitted to himself, but in the name of science, he would see to it that he learned what he could from this human.

Spock looked forward to seeing the scribbled letters of the well-known handwriting, of the hastily crumpled up wads of paper hidden (attempted to be) from the all-seeing Vulcan. He even allowed Jim to go undisturbed at their nook for a long amount of time. Of course, he knew that the man thought he was being sly, but in reality, it was Spock observing his behavior.

But of course, the time caught up to them. Or, at least, to Jim, as he was beginning to be questioned by Leonard about his behavior, and also about their need to return home. The idea of returning was a strike of ice to Jim's heart. He had forgotten what it would mean, to be on vacation – you must always return home.

Jim was not an optimist. He was realistic. He knew that these moments of bliss and pleasure were few and far between, and that eventually, however soon, he would have to go back to his old life in Iowa and continue on the same destitute path as before. And though the Enterprise was the most glorious environment he had ever the pleasure of being in, he knew it was only temporary. A small insignificant memory that he will come to resent because of the taste of freedom it gave him.

And so, with the passion for knowledge fizzling out (in a melancholy way), Jim agreed with Leonard. It was time, after thirteen and a half days spent in absolute wonder, to return to the empty void of a town in which they lived.

Jim felt the happiness in his heart shatter, again, not for the last time, and he thought to himself _I just want to stay happy _before he fell asleep that night.

/

The next day, Spock had a feeling that his - well, in this case, it would be accurate – knowledge thief, was not seeking out the nook. Indeed, the Vulcan knew that his presence was far away from his desk and workplace, and that none of the com PADs had smudged finger prints on them. He did not want to admit it, but Spock did not want this new treasure to be gone. Though he was human, he was entirely too intelligent to allow him to leave without at least learning who the boy was. So, with this new goal and determination set in Spock's mind, he went searching for the man with golden honey hair, and clear blue eyes.

Of course, Spock (he would not ever admit to this, not even upon death) did not have an idea of how, exactly, he would confront this human. Perhaps enticing him into a verbal altercation? Though in human standards, he would most likely be offended by his words, and end up in physically assaulting the Vulcan. And though Spock was not afraid for his own well-being, he did fear for the well-being of the intellectual conversation he planned on having.

When Spock found Jim, intentionally (by accident), he looked upon a sight that sent his heart aching (or, it would be what his mother would say about the face of the man, contorted in misery so). The beautiful exotic human was sitting on a sofa seat, looking out the plaza window with the sun streaming in, landing directly onto the man's profile. He was bathed in sunlight, literally golden and glowing, and Spock was struck by what he saw. For not only was the man breathtaking, but he was also completely dejected.

Though Spock was a Vulcan, his mother was indeed a human. And when she had found out that her second son would not be born alive, she had worn an expression similar to the one this man was wearing now. Spock knew emotions. He could identify them, he could recognize them. But never had he seen a stranger, a person he had no contact with before, with such an open display of sadness. He had never before felt such regret toward a person he did not know – it was not logical.

However, with his mother's sad eyes in his memory, he felt something needed to be done to remedy the situation. He began making his way over to the man aglow in the sunlight.

The date of their departure had been decided on; Leonard and Jim would be returning to their old lives in three days, six hours, and forty two minutes. The countdown in his head would not cease, and he, though never looking at the clock, knew precisely how much time was left until his life meant nothing. Again. He broke free of his chains, only to be herded back and caged again. Bones knew the kid didn't want to leave, hell, he didn't want to either. But it was necessary, as Leonard had a career to continue – being a doctor was time consuming, and though he had saved a month's worth of vacation days, it was time to be getting back to his responsibilities.

Before Jim knew it, a tall figure was standing in front of him, to the right, and he was holding several stacks of files and com PADs. His eyes flicked over the person for only a moment, figuring the individual was only standing there for a moment (unlike certain aliens, Jim accepted that this was a free library, and that standing or sitting in certain places was allowed, no matter your personal preferences). However, the sound of a deep, silky voice clearing their throat made him look up into the stranger's eyes. Blinking, Jim couldn't believe who he saw standing there.

_The Vulcan, _his mind sang, _the Vulcan is here, I'm not alone! _His emotions were clearly displayed on his face, granting Spock a delighted smile curling those soft human lips. Spock knew, right then, that this decision _was_ logical; indeed, the happiness the man found from seeing the Vulcan was enticing and remedied all doubts he had previously. And though he was to be without emotion – that did not mean Spock was unable to give others joy. And even though the sight of this man's – this golden ray of sun, this human – happiness gave Spock a pleasing roll to his belly, he did not feel ashamed. But he would not admit to these feelings aloud – that is where his pride of being Vulcan would not go.

Jim, looking up at the dark haired man, with those brooding and emotive brown eyes, he felt his chest swell with contentment. He had (not) hoped for the Vulcan to come back, to find him and talk _logical _to him. He certainly did not expect to look around the Enterprise to see this elegant creature awaiting Jim's attention. But, oh God, now that he had it how he reveled in amazement.

"Hi," his voice was soft, a stroke of timidity hovering there, right on his tongue. His blue eyes shone, almost intimidating to the Vulcan. He raised his slanted brow at the man, and took a seat across from him. Close, but not so close, only a foot apart. The urge to be close was _consuming _them both, and they had no understanding as to why that may be.

"Hello," Spock greeted, and though he did not smile, Jim could see the smile in his oh so clear brown eyes.

It had felt as if they had known each other for years, and had finally reacquainted after months of being apart. It was a relief to them, (finally) talking to one another, introducing themselves, talking, talking, discussing, (Jim) smiling, _talking. _The amount of warmth that they gave each other was overwhelmingly wonderful. They could not put a finger on it, but they didn't want to, not at all – it felt too great to hinder with contemplations further than the fact that they sat there together. Finally.

They were consumed with one another, their voices never carrying too far, as they honored the Enterprise as the library she was, but all the while becoming more and more enticed and enthusiastic with one another. Their words were increasing in speed, their intelligence reciprocating one another. They even made new discoveries, heads bowed over com PADs as their hands flitted across paper to take down notes, with their discussions.

No topic was safe, and before they knew it, the Enterprise's windows were darkened by night and they were interrupted by a grumpy and irritable older gentleman with the words _dammit, Jim _leaping from his lips. Jim laughed in delight as the Vulcan's eye brows rose to his hairline in surprise. Spock certainly did not show such an emotion, especially one as ridiculously human as surprise (yes he did) and he definitely did not frown at Jim's accusation of such (yes he did), though Jim only laughed louder.

Leonard Mccoy was not unobservant, not at all, and he understood exactly what was happening to his young friend. But Leonard was torn between feeling joy and feeling regret, after all, Jim only found one friend – himself – after all these years, and though it would be cruel to take him away from this alien so soon, he also knew it would be merciful to cut the ties as immediately as possible. And though Jim was loath to admit it himself, Leonard knew that the boy knew what Leonard had concluded moments ago.

Jim and Spock's farewell was reflected by the darkness of the night, the moon shining through the windows and cascading around them and their papers, their com PADs and their notes, their words and their gazes. Tinged with sadness, though neither could explain _why,_ they slipped away into their own separate paths, tucking the papers neatly into their folders before they departed.

Leonard noted Jim's gleaming eyes, and almost remarked on his whimsical look, but thought better of it. He couldn't bear the idea of causing this kid, his friend, any more pain than he would be obligated to feel. Leonard, not for the first time, wished that there was a hypo for him to stick Jim with – just to make his heart a little less susceptible to being broken. _His heart's just too damn big for 'em, it gets crushed too damn often. _

Leonard knew this was not going to end well, no matter what – Jim always ended up getting hurt in the end after all. But he also knew that because his friend would inevitably be sad, it was best to allow him a small stroke of happiness. It was cruel, but it was merciful. And if Bones was anything, he was a doctor.

The next day and the day after (one day, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes left), Jim spent the time with Spock. He talked and talked and laughed. He joked and he only flirted a little (really, honestly), and it seemed that the Vulcan was not-smiling – as Jim referred to his eyebrow raise and quirk of his lip – just as frequently as Jim.

It was when the Vulcan's long fingers brushed along the scarred hands of the human that it happened. It felt – as Jim would later recount – as if ice and fire were coursing through the surfaces of flesh that were being held together. It happened quick, but oh so deliciously slow, like taking a long gulp of cold water when the sun is hot, or taking a long sip of hot coffee when the weather is nippy.

It wouldn't explain it completely, though, if Jim were honest. It was too whimsical, almost – and the small touch left him feeling so full and complete it was disrespectful to call it anything other than what it was. Because Jim lacked an appropriate description, he left it alone and avoided thinking about it.

Spock did not know what his intentions were; he only wanted to feel his fingers pressed against Jim's, the golden human so emotive and wonderful. So he did it – he did not even argue within himself. There was no logic, nor was there emotion, fueling this decision – it was as necessary as breathing. And when his fingers stroked the colder skin of the blued eyed man, his belly swirled inside him, and his chest swelled with feeling. The act of the Vulcan kiss may not have been emotional, but the reaction it elicited from Spock certainly was.

The human did not understand the whole of Vulcan interactions or intimacy of Vulcans. (Not) illogically, Spock used this to his advantage and managed to kiss the sun tanned skin of his palm, his fingertips, his wrist, at every opportunity. And, if he were being as observant as he believed he was being (he was), he could see that Jim enjoyed this kisses as much as he did.

Jim looked forward to the smooth caresses (as he did not know what the stroking meant) as much as he dreaded leaving Spock behind. He only knew that he'd have one day, three hours, and four minutes left to enjoy these unobtrusive forms of contact. He craved the Vulcan's attention, craved it so hard that it was a physical pain inside his chest. Not his heart – he wasn't romantic – but his chest. It left him aching for more and dreading for more all at the same time.

Spock felt the same. He wanted to touch Jim constantly and he managed to inconspicuously (not at all) stroke and caress Jim's hands at any and all opportunities. Handing a com PAD became sensual, and wonderful, and so overwhelmingly satisfying that neither one had the capacity to deny themselves the innocent pleasure.

/

Jim spent the night before his departure crying.

He was breaking down. It was not the first time his heart had been torn like this, of course not. It was the fact that this wouldn't be the last time he experienced this agony that was tearing him apart.. This feeling of inadequacy and abandonment all in one that was causing him to plead for death. And though he was not being abandoned (not this time), he still felt as if fate, as if destiny was intentionally causing him this pain. The thought did not even cross Jim's mind that perhaps this would be the opportunity destiny had been waiting for – this could be the moment that would not cause him to die inside, to fracture and break and shatter.

Jim was many things. But he certainly was not an optimist.

Spock woke that morning feeling uneasy. Almost as if something were not functioning inside his body properly. It was illogical, however, as he was in perfect health, and the Vulcan continued with his morning meditations before heading to the section of the library that was bathed in the light if the sun – seeking out his own humanoid version of sunlight.

When he came upon the seat that usually held the human, his brow rose. Usually his Jim was seated there; legs tucked under his bottom, with a book in his hands, eyes flicking back and forth over the words as quick as the breeze. However, as the morning sun streamed in through the window, there was no golden haired, blue eyed man there to greet Spock. There was no boyish, toothy grin waiting for him. His Jim, his _friend,_ was gone.

It was perhaps childish and certainly un-Vulcan, but Spock stayed in his chair bathed in sun, waiting for Jim for the rest of the day. He waited, the whole time, hands clasped under his chin, a frown slowly forming on his brow as minute after minute passed. Spock waited, for what seemed like months, for the human. But the human never showed.

/

Time passes slowly for all who look at the clock.

It was its own agony, having to watch the clock tick second after second. Jim watched anyway – he was a masochist, after all, and what masochists do is cause themselves pain. Every moment that passed left the man feeling emptier and emptier. He was barely able to recognize his reflection.

Upon returning to his home, Jim threw his whole life into accomplishing the most impossible and dangerous of all things. He spent hours trying to make the pain stop. The pain from the ache in his chest that only grew stronger every moment spent away from the Enterprise, an unexplainable tug that kept him from finding and holding onto equilibrium. It was becoming too much to handle, and Jim, being a genius, found ways that almost let him forget about how horrible he felt. How alone.

Bones wanted to fix Jim, but you can't fix something unless there's a tool to fix it, and Jim was not a piece of technology that could be tweaked and rewound. He could not be modified internally and place on a shelf perfectly functional and ready for life and whatever she throws at you. So Leonard did what he did best, and that was be a doctor. He fed Jim warm soup, and gave him hypos for his hangovers, for any disease he might contract with his nights spent with various alien species.

Bones took care of the kid. He gave him what he needed, and tried to make him feel better. But no matter what he did, Jim would tell him the time.

"Eight days, four hours, and sixteen minutes, Bones," he'd say weakly, eyes crinkled shut and a hand in his messy hair.

"Nineteen days, twelve hours and forty seven minutes, Bones."

Each time he told Bones how much time had passed, Leonard could physically feel the sadness in Jim's voice. It didn't matter what condition Jim was in, either. He would watch the clock tick away. Telling Leonard whenever he came near how much time passed by. How much time passed since his world hadn't been so dark. How much time had passed since he had last smiled. And it damn broke Leonard's heart because there was no way to cure that which wasn't physically broken.

/

_Twenty four days, nineteen hours, and fifty eight minutes, _the numbers rolled through Spock's head. That is the time that has passed since he felt content with his existence. That is the amount of time that passed since he was able to meditate properly. Each click of the clock's hand that sat on the edge of his desk mocked him. Another second not complete. Another moment spent alone.

Spock, after having realized his Jim was not coming back (after the fourth day, sixth hour and forty-fifth minute, he had returned to his nook in the Enterprise), continued with his research. He tried not to allow his thoughts to revert back to a certain cheeky grin and gleaming blue eyes. He tried to move on (from _what _he wasn't sure).

It was the thirty second day – or night, depending on the perspective – that Spock woke with a strangled gasp and a hand clutching at his chest. The moon lit the room and Spock read the clock as sixteen minutes past three. His brow was covered in a sheen of sweat and his heart was beating entirely too fast. And on his lips, the Vulcan tasted a word so sweet, he was almost overcome by it.

_T'hy'la, _he breathed, _my Jim._

/

"Thirty four days, eleven hours and twenty one minutes," Jim's voice chirped. He was strangely – _up _was the word. He was up and about, moving and eating, picking up abandoned projects from so long ago. Leonard knew he wasn't getting over whatever it was (clearly, considering he kept reminding him the time), he was just going through a bout of (currently) uncharacteristic behavior. He tried not to worry too much, as occasionally patients would wake up one morning feeling wonderful only to crash the next day, and not make it through the night. Not that Bones thought Jim would die, of course – it was just a fear he carried from being a father and a doctor.

Still, though, Jim certainly was not entirely well, but went about his day all the same. He couldn't explain it, he had just woken with this feeling in his gut telling him _soon it'll be okay._ Jim was not sure why he even _believed _what his belly was telling him – but he just knew something was going to happen. Maybe not something great, maybe something painful – but something important. And anything was better than the stagnant life he had been living up until this point.

/

Spock had taken a while to find not only the truth about t'hy'las, but also the whereabouts of a certain blue eyed human. It had taken him too long to research – too long to learn what he needed to know – and he was desperate to find his Jim. Because now, after thirty four days, Spock knew _exactly _why he was so drawn to the human. Why he desired to run his fingers down those tanned arms. And he could not contain his relief in having found his t'hy'la after having been told that he would never be able to find a mate because of his heritage.

It was unadulterated joy screaming through the Vulcan's body – and as he made his way up the stair case that housed his Jim, he tried to swallow the clump at the back of his throat that threatened to inhibit his speech. The knocking of his fist onto the front door of the lonely Iowan home sent out hope through the house. The dream he had lived for could be his, if, _if, _his Jim were to greet him with his smile.

Jim practically bounced through the house on his way to the door, accidently clipping his foot on a chair in his mad dash. Had Bones not left for work an hour ago, Jim knows he'd have been scolded. _Dammit Jim! I'm a doctor, not a babysitter! _Jim giggled at his mental image of Bones, and opened the door with the smile still on his face.

It was pure sunlight when the door opened. A ray of absolute sun brighter than any star he'd ever seen. His Jim, eyes crinkling from his boyish grin, standing there in his reach. Open to his touch. _He's right there_ he was chanting to himself.

Jim's face froze when he realized just who he had opened the door for. He couldn't even _breathe _– was pulling oxygen into the lungs really necessary? – and almost collapsed right there on the ground. But those brown eyes (gleaming with joy) made it so he couldn't help the choking noise he made and (in all honesty) the force he threw himself at the Vulcan with – had he been human like Jim – would have sent them both sprawling onto the porch floor.

As it was, Spock caught Jim and held him against his chest as the man breathed (finally) into the Vulcan's neck, inhaling his scent (he smelled like spice and sand and air and cinnamon), and pulled Jim inside the house, closed the door behind him, and held tightly to the man that gave him a heart.

Jim's hands unwound themselves from the Vulcan's shirt, and tangled in his silky black hair. So soft, Jim's hands twirled the hair between his fingers, all the while still nuzzling into Spock's neck. A small sob made its way from Jim, and he murmured to the Vulcan almost unintelligibly, but Spock heard him nonetheless.

"Thirty four days, fifteen hours, three minutes."

It was energy – pure electric and lightning and _wonderful_ – those words were. And neither one was sure, exactly, what was happening – just that they _knew _it had to happen _right now. _Jim, not entirely untangling himself from the Vulcan, pulled him along with the intention of leading Spock to his bedroom, only just down the hall.

Jim could feel it, that desire inside of Spock that had brought him here. He didn't know what it was called, only that it had drawn them together _finally, _and as Jim breathed Spock's air, and their bodies intertwined on the sheets, he realized he didn't give one god damn _what _it was, he loved it and thanked destiny for bringing into his arms this wonderful man, Vulcan, _soul mate._

Jim's lips were swollen with Spock's kisses when they pulled away for air. Imitating his human, Spock nuzzled Jim's neck, placing small kisses down his jaw line all the way down to his collarbone. A shiver ran through his body when Spock trailed his tongue, flat and wet with saliva, down his bare chest.

Spock's lips made a trail of hot pleasure – burning like fire, lava, _ice – _and Jim couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't believe it – because, in a sense, he had known this was what was coming. He had known (inside, deep inside, his soul could feel his Spock) that his life had been all a part of leading him to this pleasure, this wonder, this _agonizing sensuality._ And because he had known, this whole time, without being aware of his knowledge – Jim didn't have to believe. For when he became aware of this feeling – as if his soul were answering to his Vulcan – it did not matter that Jim was anything but Spock's.

Jim was realistic, and was not deluded into thinking that good things happen for those who deserve it. No, he knew with utmost certainty that sometimes – just sometimes – the fabric of fate will weave two lives together entirely – _parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched._ It just so happened that he was one of the lives woven to another.

Neither one was sure when or where they removed their clothing, they just slowly realized that their bodies were close, so deliciously close, with no barriers against their skin. Nothing preventing them from caressing chests, thighs, the dip of the hip, twining their fingers as their lips nipped and bit at every surface of skin they could find.

Spock, forcing his lips from Jim's, took those long slender fingers and placed a kiss (soft _blinding _heat) on each callused pad, before trailing his two fingers down the length of them. Jim gasped, looking up wide-eyed at the Vulcan, his eyebrows raised in question, pupils blown from desire.

"It is a Vulcan kiss."

When Spock's velvet voice rasped those words, Jim almost arched off the bed, hips bucking. He remembered those small touches from the Enterprise, and by the mischievous gleam in those brown eyes and the quirk of his lip, Jim knew Spock could tell _exactly _what he was thinking. And with a moment's thought (between the groans and moans and licks and bites) Jim came to a conclusion: _If I can spend the rest of forever with this man, I will be happy._

Their lips met again, frantically trying to ease the need (gut-wrenching absolute _need) _to get closer, closer, _closer _to each other but their lips and tongue and teeth were not satisfying them, not in the least, so without even having to tell Jim what he needed, Jim crawled out from under Spock and reached into his bed side drawer for lubricant and a condom.

He handed them to Spock, laying back onto the pillows, knees apart. Leaning over him, Spock kissed the side of his lips as he applied the condom to his erection, groaning into Jim's mouth when he felt his cool fingers trail down to his bottom, clutching tightly. His grip pulled the Vulcan on top of him, and Jim held slender hips between his thighs before thrusting his hips up into Spock's. His breathing stuttered – both their breathing did – and Spock poured some of the lubricant onto his fingers.

Jim writhed in pleasure (agony) pleading for Spock to _please hurry I need you oh please, _and Spock tried his best to prepare the human for his cock, but it was only so much he could accomplish before it seemed like an eternity, with Jim licking his ear, telling him _now now now _before Spock couldn't handle it anymore – neither of them could – and Spock entered his body, Jim crying out, hands clutching desperately at the bed sheets, knuckles white, toes curled, mouth open and neck exposed._ Delicious,_ Spock thought, as he bit the open and displayed flesh, glistening with sweat, and groaned when Jim _keened. _

It was too much, it was too hot, hard, big – _too much – _for Jim to handle, but oh _God _it was exactly what they both were searching for and they needed more of it – all of it right _then. _

Their bodies slowly began moving in synchronization, slowly adjusting to how exquisitely _tight and hot _it was. The full feeling so much more than anything Jim had ever experienced before – a glowing peal of light was bursting behind his eyes. He didn't know what it was, but as he looked into Spock's eyes with each thrust (shrouded by the golden beam) – he knew he wanted what the Vulcan was giving him. And Spock was so beautiful and the glow was so brilliant and warm and hot and cold and _golden, _there was nothing he could do but trust Spock implicitly as he placed his fingers strategically on Jim's face.

When their climax hit, Jim felt Spock and Spock felt Jim, their minds one and together, sharing the bliss their release brought them. _Golden, like Jim_, Spock thought and Jim _felt it._ His smile wasn't seen by Spock – no, it was caressed through their thoughts – _a mind meld, _Spock supplied.

Jim was anything but an optimist, and Spock was anything but logical. But as their eyes met – earth to sea, lover to lover – they knew they had been lying to themselves. Jim was optimistic, just as Spock was a dreamer – and they had been fighting for this moment their whole lives (though unconsciously, as the soul knew what they did not). Destiny had woven a fabric of them, for them, around them – they were finally complete.

For a moment – a moment that lasted forever in the blink of an eye – they weren't the human and the Vulcan. They were Spock and Jim. Friends. Lovers. Soulmates.

_T'hy'la._


End file.
